Boundary Lines (Father & Nym)

[Father Figure]

Eventually there would come a time in everyone's life when they had to face the desires that coursed through their veins and brought sinful thoughts into their everyday lives. It was often the line that many people walked when they were online, when they were engaged in the activities that many would find to be defiled and twisted, horrid and unimaginable. So many people looked down on roleplayers, on writers, on the fanfiction sections of websites...and yet so many people found themselves working into abandon with their smut novels, their webcams, and their internet searches. They tried to point out the fetishes that the roleplayers explored, the dynamics, the twisted little kinks. It was all the same thing really except for the lines that people drew in the sand. Those lines helped them differentiate between reality and imagination, helped them grasp the difference between themselves and their work.

It's not a sin if I just masturbate while watching a video, is it? It's not a sin if I just slip my fingers in while readying Fifty Shades, right? It's not something terrible if I pull up Pornhub and get off watching people do what I dream of....

Please say it's not?

It was all bullshit. The truth was that eventually you were going to make a mistake. How many people who were online said that they already had? That you were going to somehow break one of your boundaries and regret it? How many times had someone written that they would never speak on the phone, and then finally did? How many times had they discussed never sharing more than just the writing on the screen...and finally they broke down and whispered frantically how badly they needed one another? How many times had relationships been made and sundered, created and destroyed, and how many lives had been wrecked upon the terrible desires of the people who enjoyed their...work. They could call it work all they wanted, they could call it writing as they wriggled in their chairs and tried to ignore their arousal. He knew better...he knew what he wanted.

Father always knew what he wanted.

What he wanted was to finally find that beautiful young girl who wanted to come to him and be his. To offer herself up and give in a way that she never would have wished...but that she had changed her mind when she met him. That he had turned her resistance into pleasure, her reluctance into willingness. That was what he craved in his life, to finally feel trembling flesh underneath his hands that looked up at him and whispered very quietly into the air that she was his little daughter, spreading her thighs so that she could offer herself up to him....and so he waited in that hotel room, patiently wondering if she would actually arrive for him. Wondering if he would just sit there like an idiot or if tonight, if tonight he would meet his little girl.

 

[Nymphia]

Innocence. It was one of the words that less than a handful of the people on the Earth could use without a bad conscience. It was used without much thought, people making themselves out to be something that they were most certainly not, flattering themselves, rationalizing their actions. After all, the lie in itself was innocent, and no one would question it. If one was to parse the what it truly meant to be innocent, perhaps fewer people would dare to sugarcoat their little sins when they wanted to avoid being looked down upon, but the truth of the matter was that the word had come to lose its meaning. It had been misused for so long that the definition had been broken down, and no one minded. As long as it helped people make things justifiable, no one would mind.

For her, it was used to justify her own shameful indulgence. It had started off as an innocent hobby... sweet novels, stories hidden under her pillow or in secret folders, little products of boredom that she kept to herself. It was not until the day when she discovered collaborations that she saw the beauty of it, her stories finding their own heartbeat, taking unexpected turns and challenging her to follow. And she followed them, let them carry her away, not realizing that she went down the rabbit hole until it was too late. No, she did not feel any shame until the harmless little pastime had become so dark and immoral that she could never let anyone find out about it... not unless they were as guilty as she was herself.

All things truly wicked started from innocence, no matter how one defined the word.

It had come to the point where she was pushing the limits that separated fantasy from reality, beckoned over to the other side by the impact of words. Never had she thought that she would find herself wanting to realize what was meant to be a story, but his words had brought her away from the safety of her imagination, and those words only kept bringing her closer to him. There were so many reasons for her to stop and turn back, but she didn't dare to pay them any attention, not after all the hours she had spent preparing herself to face her desires. She was very well aware that a little doubt could make her fragile courage shatter into pieces, denying her the touch of the hands she had been craving for far too long...the hands of the Father she needed. She knew she would rather take the risk of making a mistake, than to forever have to wonder what it would have been like to finally meet him.

At last, her steps came to a halt as she reached the border, high and solid, impossible to cross without the intention of doing so. Carefully she pressed her ear to the hard wood of the door, breathing the name she knew him by and listening for a sign that he was still there - perhaps hoping that he would not be, unsure of how she would handle his presence. The hem of the skirt she had put on for him was in folds, messed up from habits of her nervous hands, that were now brought up to tear down the barrier. Hesitant hands, knocking four silent words. Father, are you there...? Then she quickly stepped back, hiding that she had been listening so very closely to hear his footsteps. Would he still want her as she was, much smaller than her words, she wondered... Was she still good enough when she was vulnerable, without anything to hide behind but thin fabric, put on display for him at last?

 

[Father Figure]

The bull like frame rose from the small chair afforded in the hotel room. The room itself was typical of any businessman. While he was a romantic sort, they both lived in the world of finances and responsibilities and he had his own. So while many women would have dreamt of something that was right out of Fifty Shades of Grey, a penthouse floor and bondage equipment galore...that was not the hotel room that "Father" stood within as he approached the door to find her. No, this room was modest with it's small business desk and dresser, with it's coffee maker and large mirror frame, with it's flat screen television and queen sized bed. No surprises here, other than perhaps the man who answered her knock. His bull like body moved with steady steps to open the door and there he looked down at her, towering over the young girl and merely accepting her for what she was. She had come to impress, perhaps worried about it, but that was not the nature of Father. The very fact that she had decided to push her limits to this point was enough to impress him and everything else was icing on the cake.

To describe him physically would have reduced the impact of him. To describe his strong features, the look of a distinguished older man, one who had refined his public persona for decades after realizing how amazingly good first impressions were. Oh, when he was relaxed and alone he was as vulnerable as any, but when he was in the presence of others there was something much more that came out of him. Something that seemed to be manifested, coming from deep within his core. That was what truly needed to be described for the young lady. The way his eyes narrowed and slowly slid down her small frame, as if memorizing every line and filing it away, but more than that.....studying her as if she were an interesting project he was working on. How his mouth pressed together, the brow furrowing as he was ensuring he saw everything he could in that one swift moment. The way his shoulders tightened as he did so, readying as if to pounce.

Pure territorialism given life. This hotel room was his den, even if only rented for the night. Yet he was still only a man.

Those eyes studied her for the briefest of moments, and then he smiled. He smiled and it changed everything in his features. Those full lips widened to accept her, welcoming her, and he reached one hand out to touch her arm. He could have turned it into something domineering, to jerk her into the room and begin ravishing her, but no. This was reality and not the dream. He would not be so foolish as to do anything other than welcome her, but they had come together in order to explore and find something deeper than just the text upon the screen. There was no reason to greet each other like strangers. So his hand touched her arm, his other one her shoulder, and he gave small sound as he pulled her close and hugged her. Hugged her to place a kiss upon her head as he whispered.

"God I am so...happy that you are here. I didn't honestly expect to truly meet you." His heart skipped as he said the words, taking a moment to still his own terrible needs just at the sight of such a tiny little thing, and he moved to let her come in, his voice continuing. "How was the trip?"

 

[Nymphia]

Her first reaction upon hearing the distant click in the lock of the door had been to turn her back to it, to act as if she had gotten the wrong number and flee. But she remained still with her gaze locked between her feet, even as his eyes fell upon her in complete silence, she did not move. Not more than to lift her head to look at him after the first few seconds, her eyes widening contra his narrowing ones. For a moment she wished the floor would consume her, swallow up her body and let her disappear. That it would take her back to a familiar place, a situation she could handle. Had he expected something different? Did he not like what she was wearing, was she too short? Whatever he was thinking, it was hard for her to judge, being so used to words filling in the blanks for her. He was most certainly not a stranger, but his eyes were speaking a foreign language, one she did not know how to interpret. Desperate to do something - to break the silence, just anything - she parted her lips with the intention to speak.

That was when he moved.

The first touch was gentle, almost shy, and entirely unselfish. It made her body stiffen in anticipation, a state in which it remained until he had his warm frame pressed against hers. She blinked rapidly for a moment, closed her dumb mouth that had been kept open in case she would find something to say, and exhaled slowly. Whether it had been his intention to trick her mind or not was irrelevant, for she was finally in his arms, finally feeling that reassuring kiss she had been waiting for. It was warm, tender, welcoming, just like she had imagined. "Hi," she managed to squeeze out, wishing so dearly that she had rehearsed this type of scenario. That she had thought of such a simple thing as a proper greeting. A soft giggle escaped her and at once her body relaxed against his, finally allowing her to elaborate. "I'm so happy to be here," she breathed quietly, overwhelmed by his words and unable to express whatever thoughts were on her mind, quick to wipe her wide smile off before he pulled back. Blue eyes turned to peek through the doorway as she stepped inside, barely reacting to the sound when he shut the door behind her.

Perhaps she had expected to enter a world of whips, leather and chains, and perhaps that was why those eyes that had strained so much a moment ago now studied the room with such curiosity. A hand reached out to touch the wall, then the surface of the desk, little steps allowing her to get familiar with her surroundings, making sure everything was indeed exactly what it seemed to be. A glance through the window told her little about where they were, but still she lingered there for a moment. It was hard to believe he was standing in the room behind her. Everything about him was genuinely and thoroughly human, and it was all but disappointing. After all, it was exactly what she was there for. Him, the way he was, without any shortcuts or detours.

"It was good, thank you," she replied but kept her voice rather low, clearly trying to hide an accent that was hard to place on the map in her stiff formality. Albeit vague it still clung to her words, mainly showing in the pace of them. No matter how much effort she put in, it was always hard to adjust her voice properly, and more often than not it was best to give up and take the time to allow things to come naturally. And there was plenty of time for that. So she tried to ignore the little flaw as her body slowly turned, the girl giving the bed a quick glance before deciding to remain standing. The room was not his home, but she was all but the type of person who would take the liberty to make herself comfortable so soon, especially not when she barely knew what to say. Relax, Aira, the voice in her head echoed, and she made an honest attempt to listen to it. No, there was no reason to act as if they had never held a conversation before, but then again, seeing each other in the flesh was entirely new. She knew him well enough to know that he already understood the reason behind her lack of words, or at least accepted it, and it took some of the pressure away. Nevertheless, she hated the silence.

Sighing softly she walked back to the desk, leaning against it with her hands behind her back, tempted to prop herself up on it but remaining idle. "It's so strange to see you," she admitted shyly, before briefly shaking her head. "I mean... How are you? I had some food on the way, but maybe you're hungry, or tired..." Another soft, gentle laughter escaped her full lips, one hand absentmindedly tapping the wooden surface behind her, a skittish habit. "I'm sorry. You're just so...real."

 

[Father Figure]

He watched her as she idly moved around, his eyes solemn as he studied her every motion. It was obvious he was there and obvious she knew she was being appreciated. Her lovely young frame, small and petite, moving about as she examined each and every nook and cranny. He could imagine that she was worried about something, imagine lots of reasons that she would be uncertain about being there and trying to see if he had anything hidden that would potentially be dangerous for her. Perhaps recording equipment? Perhaps items to use upon her? Yet there was none of that there, none of that save his eyes and his hands that he would touch her flesh with. For this first time, perhaps disappointingly for some, there would be none of the strings and attachments that were normally associated with the BDSM community. Just him, her, and this room together. As she moved his hand put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door and he shut it firmly, clicking the lock just slightly.

He would brook no interruptions in what was to come.

As her words trailed off he gave a smirk, one that was full of good humor. It came with a small tilt of his head, a bit of laughter in those eyes as he walked into the room and he murmured. "Yes, I am real, did you doubt that I existed?" Now that they were alone, now that she was in his presence, it was as if he felt like a drug addict. The heady scent of her, the pheromones, the terrible lust already began to course through him and even though he maintained that sense of humor it seemed to just be one side of him. His face might be laughing, but his body was screaming something completely different. Animalistic and territorial, it moved with languid motions that could only be described as primal. Was he hunting her?

There was no real need to hunt however now was there? She was his, waiting and perfect for him, and he knew that he wanted to lay claim to her. He remembered so much of their online conversations, remembered so much of what she had said, but there was no need. What she had said was what he was, what he did naturally, and so he came to touch her arm...gripping it just slightly as he looked down at her and then he turned her hard. Turned her to face the mirror, standing behind her, and his free arm wrapped around her. He held her in his embrace, one hand sliding to caress of her small stomach while the other came to touch her throat. Wrapping his fingers slowly around her flesh. He knew it was dangerous, it would cause panic in most, yet he did not flex and clamp down on her. He did not choke her, he merely claimed.

He gave a small pause, leaning in to kiss her throat before trailing his tongue upwards to flick lightly across her ear and he whispered very gently. "There, is that better? Does that take your mind off everything? Tell me, little angel, are you ready for what happens next?"

 

[Nymphia]

She watched in silence as the man moved from his vantage point, her fingers clutching onto the desk as he did, keeping her still. There was a certain confidence in his stride, a determination in the rhythm of it and that she had seen many times before, only in his words. Many of them were engraved in her memory and the impact of them was as heavy as his presence at that moment. She could feel him move. He moved in her rapidly accelerating heartbeat, his approach driving her into the the edge of the desk. Maybe, just maybe, she would not have reacted at all if it had not been for the way he looked at her, caging her with smiling eyes and not letting her out of sight, making sure she stayed exactly where she was. Any conversation she voiced at that moment would have been an excuse to make him halt, a way to buy herself the time she thought she needed but would not know what to do with.

Surely it would have been easy to understand what his nearing meant for her, but the change in his color was too sudden for her young mind to register before he had her trapped. A yelp escaped her as she was turned, the noise low but sharp, carrying a hint of anxiety. Just like the many times his words had moved her, something inside her was set ablaze by the way he did not even bother to ask, by the way he never gave her a chance to deny him. It was not just a subtle warmth; it even lacked embers to spark the fire. It was immediate, her knees weakening at the image of their bodies close together reflected in the mirror, her heart skipping a beat at the sight and feeling of his hand perfectly collaring her throat.

Countless nights had been spent sharing words in the haze of their lust, two minds unfolding in the distant presence of each other, letting each other in bit by bit. Perhaps the most bizarre thing about the way he held her now was that she had spoken so...eagerly about it then, and now it seemed to scare her. Because somewhere she was afraid those hands would press down too hard, she instinctively feared the fact that he could end her short life with little effort.

A hand was raised to touch his, fingers hooking in as if to pull it away, but whatever the intention had been it left her mind the moment his lips touched her skin. She did not try to free herself, nor did she complain. Instead, her head was tilted to the side, her lips parting and a muted pant leaving her throat. Little goosebumps sprang in the wake of his words and her stomach heaved lightly underneath his other hand, and as if the sensation wasn't overwhelming already, she saw every detail of her reaction in the mirror. Everything from the powerless fingers that remained still on top of his to the subtle way her body shifted as she pressed her legs together in an attempt to steady herself.

Slowly she breathed in his scent and her soulful eyes watched his face in the mirror. Her brow furrowed above them as she spoke, still subconsciously avoiding the name she knew him by, what he was to her, as if the word was loaded with an entirely different meaning now that they were together. "I... don't know," she admitted quietly, whether or not those were the words he wanted to hear.

 

[Father Figure]

He understood, there was no doubt that he did. He was the man who would have called himself her Father. He did not take that word lightly, unlike other men. So many men loved when a woman called them Daddy, so many men got off on the fantasy of young flesh, and yet he inhabited so much more than that. It was in every fiber of his being to be that kind of man for a woman. His beard was kept professional, greying slightly like the dark hair on his head. His eyes were worldly and experienced, not some man who had slacked his life away but one who had worked hard throughout the many years. Who had learned, educated and professionally groomed. He was a man who had been hurt, who had highs and lows, who had virtues and flaws. All of it led to a person who was unlike the other men she might have come across online, the variables that had created him leading to a depth and dynamic of personality that was so very lacking in others. She could see all of that in those harsh features that gazed over her shoulder, his eyes narrowing just the tiniest of bits at her words. The wrinkles near his eyes, the laugh lines around his full lips.

The way he held her was domineering in the extreme and yet held no cruelty to it, for he was not punishing her. He might be "cruel" in the way he manhandled her or the harshness of his approach, but he was not emotionally cruel to her. He might have been dirty with the way he spoke, how twisted the words might have been when he said them, but he was not mentally abusive. No, he could never explain how these actions could have arisen out of worship for a woman. He could never explain how he valued them, adored them, raised them up high so he could look at them as if they were artwork. All before utterly destroying their flesh. He sighed, inhaling the scent of her as he nipped just slightly underneath her ear...catching the flesh before whispering.

"Reach behind you and spread your ass for me."

He knew she had not worn any panties, what woman would in this circumstance? It would be nothing but a hindrance in what they were doing, nothing but something he would have to get out of the way in order to have access to her. His voice was low and languid as he said those words, trying to come to terms with how he himself was feeling. He would not let her know but desire was the same for so many people, she could feel it even if he did not explain. The way his own stomach tightened, the way his breathing deepened, and the heavy thump of his heart. Those all occurred, telltale signs of his arousal that existed more than just the visceral feeling of his hard flesh through his pants. His hands tightened on her, the one tracing across her stomach cupping her abdomen...as if claiming that it was going to be his, that her feminine form belong to know other....and the one on her throat tightened the tiniest bit more at the touch of her hand.

What did that signify? Much more than just the claiming of her womb, but it symbolized the claiming of her fucking soul. His voice softly whispered into her ear.

"Daddy needs you."

 

[Nymphia]

There was no need for a script. As if it was rooted deep within her, the young girl knew both what was happening and what was yet to come. She knew that if she was uncertain, he would guide her. His hands would guide her and they would convince her she could do it, regardless of the insecurities she shyly hid behind. His words would do all that and more, his lovely words always did, they commanded and demanded and she swallowed them with a voracious hunger. Perhaps it was a matter of authority blended well with the respect she had always felt for him that had made her so willing to submit to him - or simply the lack of the former. The absence of someone to admire and follow, a hole filled by a man with whom she felt safe, but who always kept her all atremble on the edge of her seat. He had gladly taken her in, cared for her and violated her fantasies all at the same time, bringing her to the point where she abandoned her better knowing only for him. That seemed to be the effect he had on women, for better or for worse. Alas, there had been times of jealousy when she was too far away to look him in the eyes, but now that she had him against her, it became painfully obvious to her as he searched her features that she was so eager to please. To be better, more desirable. She was young and her eyes had only seen fractions of the world, the undeniable fact pushing her to perform and stand out. Yet he had never asked for her to do so. He had never demanded more, and never punished her for what she did not know or could not do. Never fallen in line with the other men that took her for granted.

No, Father had not asked her to thicken the line of her lashes, not advised her to dress pretty for him, never been greedy about the shallow things she nervously put so much weight in. The only greed was for her, as she was. It was pressing against the round shapes of her backside that were only hidden by fabric of her skirt, it was buried deep in his voice as it whispered gently, just barely there for her to pick up on and follow. She nodded, the way his hands took possession of her flesh making her shudder lightly as she withdrew her hand from his, knowing that it would only tighten more around her throat if she tried to loosen it again. He had warned without speaking. A few seconds passed before she moved, bending over just slightly in his arms, her body barely leaning over the dresser before them and her face turning away from the mirror in mild shame.

The sudden need in her own hooded eyes was downright embarrassing for her to witness...especially under his dark, completely calm gaze.

Much smaller hands moved down her body, timidly inching the skirt upwards before she hiked it up completely, knowing that her...Father, and his hunger, would not settle for just an inch or two of her naked skin beneath it. It was a stale motion, one she had never made before, never been asked to do. One that would reveal just how ready she was after all, already affected only by his voice and suggestive touch. Exposing herself under a command...offering herself up, drawing a breath through her teeth as the cool air of the hotel room met her skin. Fingers then sliding over the two pale cheeks, she parted them for him and kept her gaze low as she spoke very quietly, uttering the last word so softly that it was closer to a breath than a whisper.

"W-What now...Daddy?" Finally, she said it.

 

[Father Figure]

Obviously there was only one thing to do now, only one thing truly on his mind. They had discussed so many things, come to terms with who and what they were, and yet no matter how often they had spoken online or reached out to each other...there was a difference between telling someone what you would do and actually doing it. That was always the real line, always the real boundary that prevented the couplings and dreams of someone like him. So many women willing to lay their fantasies out for him, to allow him to pursue their flesh and yet when it came time for them to pay the piper they always stopped. They always begged off. Not this girl though, not his little angel, no she had instead decided to actually show up. That was not a first, but it was still rare. She had decided to offer him her flesh, still not a first, but...even rarer. She was willing to let him take her...but what was truly rare, what he could feel, was that she was willing to go the distance and keep her word. She was willing to let him have her.

She exposed herself, opening herself to him and he smiled with darkness in those features. She had turned her face away, afraid to look at him, afraid to show him the need in her own eyes. The blush of her cheeks and the way she was trembling, but his eyes were not upon her visage...no, they were upon the vision of her young little backside being opened before him and that hunger nearly tore free of him. He had to keep control, had to hold back for fear of truly hurting her. That was what had guided him in everything she thought of, everything she felt connected them together, allowed her to trust him. It was the fact that he had so terribly wanted to take more from the young little girl, but had shown a restraint which was startling.

Nobody liked being denied.

Yet she was no longer denying him was she? She had come the full distance. He leaned down and slowly spit, letting the spittle fall from his lips to hit the top of her ass crack. Watching as the liquid slid down, dribbling. Again he spit, this time more saliva having formed, and as the liquid came down he himself was readied. His hands unzipped his pants, pulling free that huge prick, bringing the head up and between her pale cheeks to press there. He held there for a moment, his hand coming to touch the small of her back, but this time the palm tightened and went flat...pressing her against the wood. His eyes burned as the spit made it to his flesh, coating him, the tip moving back and forth over the tight little anus....

...he pushed. He popped the head inside of her. It was hard and fast, the brutal taking of her young rear, but once he went past the crown of his impressive cock he did nothing more. No, his hand just merely kept her there as his eyes raised to watch the reaction in the mirror, a small smile forming as he whispered. "Now I jack off inside of you."